Astoria Greengrass is a Slut
by RisingFire
Summary: Astoria Greengrass contemplates the graffiti in the girls toilets. Takes place in the Trio's Sixth Year. Astoria/Luna, T for language.


Happy Birthday to TardisBangBangDaleksBoom :)

* * *

_Astoria Greengrass is a slut._

The cubicle was practically black with writing, but that one statement stood out, because Astoria Greengrass was her name.

She had never been called a slut before, not once.

Suddenly she had a Reputation, and she didn't like it at all.

God, it had just been one boy in one broom closet… and they hadn't even got to third base before Vicky Moon's older sister caught them.

Everyone had done stuff they regretted. Well, hers was that weedy Gryffindor with the camera.

She knew it had been a mistake, but she had moved past it. There was no changing it now.

Still, it wasn't too nice to see it up there like that.

* * *

_Astoria Greengrass is a boyfriend-stealer._

She hadn't even known he'd had a girlfriend until that weird ginger Hufflepuff had started screaming at her in the Great Hall. Anthony Goldstein was just a good kisser, that was all, and she'd needed a good kiss.

He did talk a lot though, and that was a bit annoying.

She hadn't meant to break them up. Besides, why was he even with that dumb Hufflepuff? She clearly had anger management issues. Plus she was ugly as hell.

She took out her wand and pressed it to the cubicle door, muttering a spell.

Words mingled onto the wood: _Susan Bones is fat._

* * *

_Astoria Greengrass gives head._

So what? So did half the girls in this hell-hole and their names weren't scrawled on this bathroom stall, were they? Well, apart from Lavender Brown (_LB fucked RW in the Prefects Bathroom) _but she'd probably written that herself, the attention-seeking hoe.

How did they even know she'd done it?

Theodore Nott wasn't even any good. He arrived early, and hadn't done anything for her.

_Theodore Nott is a crap shag._

It was the kind of thing that guys didn't want spread all over the school.

She smiled. She might be a slut, but she was still of the opinion that you shouldn't kiss and tell.

Anyway, maybe now he'd learn: nobody crosses Astoria Greengrass.

* * *

_AG 3 DM._

Here she was again in this solitary graffiti-ed cubicle, slicing words into the door.

Her face was slick with tears this time, though, and not because of the words of some jealous bitch or a heartbroken ex-girlfriend.

This time it was because of a boy: a stupid, misguided, idiot of a boy, who'd managed to make himself into a Death Eater and worse, who hadn't even been able to kill an old, grey, corpse who was practically dead anyway-

"Hello?"

She winced, and shut up instantly.

Of all the things to be found doing in the girls bathroom (and she'd done some pretty bad stuff) it was this?

Purebloods don't cry!

"Hey, I know you're crying, I can hear you."

From the gap between the door and the stoned floor she could see a pair of scuffed flats with tiny bows on the toes. They were decorated with miniature brass bells. Odd.

Not a Slytherin then- purebloods didn't wear scuffed shoes.

Well, the respectable ones, anyway, she amended, thinking of the Weasleys.

With a sigh, shifted the bolt with her wand, not moving from the lid of the toilet seat.

The shoes belonged to a tall, thin, blonde girl, with a Ravenclaw tie around her neck and another above her knee (what the hell?).

Oh. It was that wacko girl in Fifth Year who liked talking about imaginary creatures.

What was her name again? Something beginning with 'l'. Who cared?

"Come here," said the wacko girl, holding a hand out to her.

She glared at her from beneath her black bangs. "I'm not touching you, crazy is probably catching," she sneered, wrinkling her nose up like a hamster.

"I doubt it," said the girl- not like she was responding to an insult, but as if she were simply voicing a counter-opinion about the weather- but she withdrew her hand anyway. "Although you never know. If you can catch wrackspurts simply by walking around, maybe crazy is contagious."

Then the girl gave her a tiny wave of her hand (a hand which was decorated with ring after ring made of daisies), and turned around.

Astoria let her leave, wondering what wrackspurts were.

She turned to the door of the cubicle. Sure enough, several feet to the left of that first statement that had said '_Astoria Greengrass is a slut,' _were a few words written in blue ink: '_Luna Lovegood will give you crazy-germs' _and '_Loony Lovegood is a freak'. _

Mature. It must have been at least a few years old, as the ink was beginning to fade- probably written by a bitchy, mean little Third Year who'd been told there were nargles in her ears.

She took her wand out once again, muttered that same spell, and scratched that statement out. She thought for a moment. Then she scored into the worn wood above it: _Luna Lovegood is a friend._

She smiled.

Somehow that single statement seemed to overshadow all the ones about her being a whore or a cow or a tart.

"Impervious," she whispered, circling the little sentence, so that it would be left untouched by further gossipy pens.

Nodding to herself, she left the cubicle and headed over to the mirrors to reapply her mascara.

* * *

_DA- twelve midnight, ROR. Be there._

This was written in black marker above the mirrors.

_Happiness is hard to find these days._

Scrawled in tiny letters below the hook on the door.

_RIP Dumbledore._

Over and over just under the handle, in so many different scripts it was impossible to discern between them anymore.

_It hurts._

All around her were relics of the war, pasted onto this self-same cubicle door, but one sentence caught her eye:

_They got Luna Lovegood._

Somewhere in her she felt a tiny prick of something that anyone who wasn't a Slytherin would have recognised as sadness.

Shaking it away, Astoria crossed one leg over the other as the bell went for DADA.

No-one went to classes anymore anyway.

She rubbed her eyes and continued reading.


End file.
